#I played this one fast and loose

[archinomaly]

Ep.8 - Fromage

[cup-o-stars]

All Straw Hats!

(New Images: Chopper, Franky, Brook, Jinbei)

This was ultimately quite fun and made me push my colors harder than I have in a very long while! This last batch was definitely my favorite.

[vaperarmand]

ideal ship dynamic: guy who’s the most mentally unstable person you’ve ever heard of in your entire life x guy who wants to bang them so bad it has them saying things like “nothing wrong with that guy. they’re completely normal and sane”

[kacievvbbbb]

Something about Vegapunk using the dna and blood of a caged and experimented on child to create more caged child experiments and the cycles we perpetuate.

Because what does it mean that all that King has left as proof, that the lunarians were real, that they existed as a tribe, as a people, are seven manufactured children he doesn’t even know about, enslaved as weapons to the government that wiped out the culture they’ll never get to be a part of, and Alber himself another enslaved child lost to something he’ll never fully know.

And what of the warlords? Already young once and hurt by their government, young again and slaves to it. Boa looking at a version of her practically pulled out of time stuck in her worst nightmare or Jimbei looking at a version of himself living out a past he escaped by the skin of his teeth but so many he loved didn’t, even Doffy once again at the mercy of the people that already abandoned him, has Kuma not suffered enough? Given enough, is this child version of him doomed to repeat the same path he already could not escape from . Property of the world government, beholden to the celestial dragons, this version of me that cannot go free?

It’s interesting that Vegapunk joined the government so that he could do the most good, but look at the long line of people right infront of him that he’s hurt with his own hands.

[chronosdawn]

A little drabble based on the Hades!Wriothesley x Persephone!Reader idea I mentioned.

GN!Reader, warnings for discussions of kidnapping and imprisonment (but I feel like that comes with the territory with this AU ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯) and mild descriptions of gore.

Word count: 1.5k

The lord of the underworld stood before you in all his imposing might, the heavy sole of his boot tapping slowly against the stone floor as he cast his gaze over you. It couldn't have made for a terribly pretty sight. You sat sour-faced, trying to ignore the way the cold metal of your chair was seeping through your thin robes. The soft peach fabric—the only bright colour in this cursed place save for the sliver of red on your captor's clothes—now marred with sprays of dark ichor from your ill planned venture.

"I thought I told you to stay away from the lower levels?" Wriothesley said finally, his eyes narrowed—twin shards of ice freezing you in place.

You refused to meet his eyes. "I don't see why I should have to listen to someone who kidnapped me."

He let out a heavy sigh, like you'd already had this argument a hundred times and he was tired of it—probably because you had and he was. "Well, you'd better start to learn. This isn't the sunny fields you're used to; this is the underworld, it's dangerous. I might have brought you here but I have no intention of hurting you, although that relies on you sticking to the rules. You're lucky I had Cerberus keeping watch down there."

You flinched at the mention of the three-headed beast that had jumped out of the shadows the moment the first of the wraiths had reached you. For a few brief seconds you'd wondered if that was the end, whether Wriothesley would come looking for you only to find your blood running down the dark stone steps and into the Styx, but then the beast had leapt over you and the bone white hand was ripped away, it's claw-like nails a hair’s breadth from grazing your leg.

It had been complete carnage after that, skeletal limbs with sagging skin ripped from emaciated torsos one after the other as more wraiths clawed their way towards you, scrabbling over each other to reach the sole living thing in the room. It was only when they'd sensed Wriothesley's impended arrival—trails of frost creeping along the floor as he approached—that they'd finally stopped coming out of the water, the few with limbs still attached dragging themselves back down the steps.

"Maybe if you'd actually told me what was down there, I might have taken the warning a bit more seriously."

"Oh? So, if I gave you a description of everything gruesome thing the underworld has to offer, then you might be more inclined to listen to me? That's a long list, sweetheart."

You scowled at him, folding one leg over the other as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. "You don't have to be a dick about it."

"Because playing nice with you has worked so well thus far?" His lips started to twist into a sardonic smile but froze as his gaze narrowed in on where your robe had shifted with your movement, revealing a couple of extra inches of skin. Before you could think to move away, he was kneeling on the floor in front of you, his large hand curled around your calf as he scrutinised the exposed part of your leg.

"Hey, what are you doing?" You tried to bat his hand away but his arm might as well have been made of marble for all the good it did.

"Were you going to mention you got injured, or had you not even noticed?" Wriothesley's tone was oddly flat as he spoke, his eyes narrowed accusingly.

"What?" You leaned forward to see what he was talking about and caught sight of set of scratches running across your skin, the blood seeping from the wound shimmering in the light of the wall sconces. “When did—ow!” Reaching down to probe at the injury, you couldn’t help but wince as your finger grazed the edge of the torn flesh, pain flaring up your leg.

Wriothesley let out a deep breath and you suddenly became aware of how your current position had brought you far closer to the ruler of the underworld than you usually allowed, how from this distance you could pick out the individual strands of grey in his hair, the light scruff on his chin.

“It doesn’t look like it’s too deep at least. You got lucky, a serious wound from a wraith will scar even a god.” He kept his gaze on your injury, a faintly faraway look on his face and, not for the first time, you found yourself thinking of what could scar someone like Wriothesley. Whether it’d been a wraith that had carved its claws down his throat or something else—something worse. Maybe you should start paying more attention to the areas he said were off limits to you.

“Does it hurt?” You went to shake your head only to reconsider. It hadn’t hurt, or at least not enough that you’d noticed, but now as you focused on it, you became aware of dull but persistent throb in the area around the wound.

“It didn’t earlier but it’s starting to now. It’s not because the wraiths are um—poisonous or anything, right?” It was an effort to keep the panic out of your voice and you didn’t think you managed it entirely but Wriothesley simply chuckled at you.

“No, they’re not. You probably just didn’t notice the pain earlier because of the shock.” He ran his thumb down the side of your leg and though his touch was gentle, you still grimaced as it sent a flare of pain up your shin. “Healing magic isn’t really my forte so I’ll send for someone more qualified to come and take a look. In the meantime, this should help with the pain.”

A gasp escaped your lips as frost blossomed over your skin, an intense cold spreading over the area around the bloody scratches before being replaced by a heavy numbness such that you could only barely feel a faint pressure where Wriothesley’s fingers were still curled around your calf. You couldn’t feel the injury at all.

“That’s um…”

“What? Not even a thank you for acting as your rescuer and tending to your wounds?” He looked up at you from beneath dark lashes and you felt the words sitting heavy on your tongue. You’d thought before about how easy it would be to give in. Putting aside how you came to reside in the underworld, Wriothesley had never tried to force anything from you even if there had been a teasing comment here and there. You knew what he wanted though, could see the loneliness that clung to him like the fur-lined coat he favoured, that drove him to commit the act of stealing away a god, and no matter the temptation, you refused to give it to him.

“Considering that it was your beasts I needed saving from, I’m not sure a thank you is truly owed,” you replied instead, the words dripping from your lips like poison.

He dropped your leg as though you’d burned him. “My beasts, huh? Yeah, I guess it’d seem that way to you.” There was a faint trace of humour in his voice, though his wasn’t the tone of someone telling a joke, but rather the sort you used when you were the punchline.

“You can wait in your rooms,” he said, standing and turning to walk towards the towering marble arch that served as the entrance to the room. “I’ll tell our resident healer to come and find you. But seriously,” he paused on the threshold, turning back to look at you over his shoulder, the lower half of his face hidden by the collar of his coat, “keep away from the lower levels. If you want to act out at me for bringing you here, throwing your life away to the things that call that place a home is not the way to do it, and I can’t always be around to keep an eye on you. Not that I imagine you’d want me to either.”

He left without waiting for you to reply, and you watched his form disappear into the gloom that seemed to seep from the walls of the underworld, leaving the room feeling oddly empty. You looked down at your leg, frost still curled around your wound. Sometimes you wished Wriothesley was as terrible as the stories you’d heard about him on the surface claimed—wished he was a little easier to hate. Because you couldn’t give him what he wanted, not if it meant being stuck here more than you already were; a land that had never seen the sun and where every flower you’d tried to grow withered before it could bloom. You needed to find a way out of here and soon, you thought, the feeling of Wriothesley’s hand still fresh in your mind, before you were tempted into something that would ensure you could never leave at all.  

[mensmommymilkers]

Had to draw the trio from from my fave book by @sarahreesbrennan as I reread for the millionth time 😮‍💨 They’re so fun

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: In a world where everybody has a superpower, Roier doesn't seem to have one

For day five of @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week- Superheroes/Blood

-

Cellbit's dreams are always dark. They start with him in his childhood bedroom, and then they move him down to the kitchen his parents died in, and then they end with him under the bridge. The sounds are muffled, but he can still understand what's being said, and it's always: "It's your fault."

Because it is.

He's had the same dreams since the night his parents died.

Every.

Goddamn.

Night.

But, well. He deserves it. The darkness surrounding the edges of his dream blurs out the unimportant details, like the face of the little girl who was sitting at the kitchen table when Cellbit's parents died, or the view outside of his bedroom window.

But the darkness hides something else- and this is a recent development, and he really doesn't understand it. Because, just out of view, is a figure in all black with eyes that glow white and claws that tear through Cellbit's dreams like they're paper.

He doesn't know who, or what, this thing is, but he does know a few things about it:

The creature destroys Cellbit's nightmares, sending his subconscious tumbling into a much happier dream- one that he can never remember when he wakes up

The creature tries to talk to him every time, but the fangs in its mouth are so large that it just can't

The creature seems to grow taller and stronger with every nightmare it destroys.

The creature is scared of Cellbit's husband

Now, yeah, sure, the creature can't talk, but Cellbit doesn't need to hear someone speak to know what they're afraid of. That's his superpower: fear. He can look at someone and hear what they're scared of, and he can make them scared, and it's horrible and he's a monster and he deserves to-

Cellbit gasps his way into full consciousness. He stares at the ceiling, chest heaving, brain loud and annoying and and and and-

"Gatinho?" Roier murmurs, curled up by Cellbit's side with his head pillowed on Cellbit's chest. He wraps an arm around Cellbit's middle and squirms closer, somehow, he's so clingy.

"Está bem," Cellbit breaths. "Just... just thinking."

"Well, don't," Roier grumbles. "Your brain is loud. Sleep, pendejo."

As if on command, Cellbit's eyelids droop. Roier always has this effect on him; he's just so comforting. He's a living, breathing weighted blanket, and Cellbit loves him so fucking much.

Soon enough, he's asleep again, and he's face-to-face with the creature again.

The creature tries to speak, but no noise comes out.

It flexes its claws as Dream Cellbit starts the walk downstairs to the kitchen.

The dream is shredded, and Cellbit finds himself face-to-face with-

-

Roier and Cellbit have been married for almost one whole entire wonderful year. He's known Roier for one and a half years, and he's been out of prison for two years.

Roier knows about the creature in Cellbit's dreams, even if Cellbit hasn't told him what his dreams actually are. Roier's been trying to come up with a name for it for months now, but Cellbit doesn't really know what to think of that considering the creature is literally invading his brain every night.

"It's kind of sweet, though, right?" Roier asks.

Cellbit wrinkles his nose and jabs his chopsticks down into his rice.

Dinner tonight is Chinese takeout because Roier's tired from work and Cellbit is tired from existing. It's good, but kind of bland. Since they changed ownership and ended up under the Federation of Heroes' official branding, the food has gone downhill. Yet another thing that Cucurucho has ruined, ugh.

"I mean, maybe?" Cellbit replies. "It's kind of freaky."

"I don't know, it kind of sounds cute."

Cellbit gives Roier a flat look; Roier just grins and steals some chicken from his plate.

"It's destroying my dreams," Cellbit says. "That doesn't sound 'cute' to me."

"Yeah, but doesn't it give you different dreams?" Roier asks. "I think it's trying to help."

"Yeah, or it's trying to kill me."

Roier's shoulders tighten. "Do you think so?"

It's always hard to pick up Roier's fears, but Cellbit can often just guess them even without using his powers. Like, he knows that Roier is just scared enough of bears to refuse to go camping anywhere without a cabin for him to stay him. He and Cellbit are both terrified of losing each other, and they're even more scared of losing their kids.

God, Cellbit is so stupid. He doesn't need to be worrying Roier with this, he already freaks out enough when Cellbit ends up caught in the middle of one of the Federation's hero fights due to his abysmally terrible luck.

His face falls. He places his chopsticks down and reaches across the table and takes Roier's hand in his.

"It'll be fine," he tells Roier. "If it tries to kill me, I'll just... wake up."

"If it tries to kill you, I'll kick its ass," Roier swears.

He squeezes Cellbit's hand once and offers a lackluster smile.

Cellbit's heart twists in his chest. Oh, Roier...

-

The night's dream starts as usual:

Cellbit opens his eyes to find himself in his childhood bedroom in his childhood body. There aren't any bloodstains on his clothes yet, though that'll change soon enough.

He tries looking out the window, but that isn't what he did that night, so anything beyond the window is covered by the darkness.

There's a growl, and then the creature forms in the shadows near Cellbit's bed. (There are always two beds in his room, but why?)

"What do you want?" Cellbit tries to ask, but that isn't what he did that night.

Instead, and in a squeaky childish voice, he groans and shouts, "This sucks! I can't figure it out!"

He's at his desk. In front of him are multiplication tables he's supposed to be doing for homework, and they're easy enough that Adult Cellbit could do them now, but that isn't what happened that night. So the problems look like random lines and squiggles, and Cellbit's chest hurts, and he can't breathe, and-

"I can't do this!" he shouts, jumping off of his chair and pulling his homework with him. "Mãe!"

He reaches his door, has his hand on the handle, and then... there's the creature by his side shredding the door into pieces with its claws.

Cellbit blinks, and he's an adult again, and he's in a different dream, and he turns to the side and he's face-to-face with-

-

Roier is one of the few people Cellbit has ever heard of that doesn't have a superpower. He seems happy enough without one, but... but Cellbit thinks that he's lying. He isn't angry that Roier is lying, though. No, he understands, because he himself lied about not having powers until they'd been dating for six months.

In the back of his mind, Cellbit has a few ideas of what Roier's secret superpower could be. The only one he says out loud is, "I know what your power is. You're super handsome!"

But, in order, it goes:

Extreme endurance (evidence: goes for long runs every morning and ends up back in bed sweating and tired by the time Cellbit wakes up)

Can always cook the perfect meal (evidence: he's just really good at cooking)

Comfort aura (evidence: Cellbit always feels happy and cozy and safe when Roier is around)

Super strength (evidence: he's really strong)

But, well. None of those quite work, mostly because the majority of them are just early excuses for thinking Roier was attractive back before they started dating.

Tonight as Cellbit brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed, he thinks up a new idea:

Vocal projection (evidence: he's loud as fuck when he's singing in the shower)

Because, yes, Roier is, indeed, in the shower, and he's singing very loudly. But, really, Cellbit wouldn't have him any other way. He's perfect.

"Hey, guapito," Cellbit says after rinsing his mouth out. "I need your help with something?"

Roier cuts his song off with an irritated groan. "Now? I was almost to the chorus!"

"Desculpe. But you're better at naming things than I am, and I need help coming up with something to call the creature in my dream diary."

"You have a dream diary?"

"I'm starting it tonight. I'm going to figure this thing out."

"That's cute!"

Cellbit can see Roier's silhouette shaking with silent laughter through the shower curtain. Wordlessly, he opens the curtain so he can take the shower head down and spray Roier with it.

"It's serious," Cellbit says, ignoring Roier's screeching protests. "I think it's messing with my head."

"Put that down- vete a la verga, fuck!"

Roier bats at Cellbit's hands until Cellbit lowers the shower head.

And then Roier yanks the shower head away from him and sprays him with it.

"Pendejo!" Cellbit shouts. (Not the best swear word, but it's all he could come up with on such short notice.)

He skitters away from the shower and looks, horrified, down at his soaking wet pajamas.

"Whoops," Roier plainly says. "Guess you'll just have to sleep naked tonight."

He grins, and Cellbit hates him. He wants to kiss him soooo badly!

So he does, and it's nice.

A few minutes later as they crawl into bed, Roier says, "Hey. I have a name for your monster."

Cellbit looks at him. "Yeah?"

"Call it Venom. It's, like, dissolving your dreams, right? Like poison?"

Brain poison, hmm.

Cellbit grabs his brand new dream journal off of his bedside table and opens it. Right on the first page is a long, detailed description of his dream. Right below it is a description of the creature as well as a really messy drawing.

'Venom', he writes.

...What a specific descriptoin. "Dissolving your dreams", not quite how Cellbit has been describing it.

He glances at Roier out of the corner of his eye.

Hm.

-

The first part of the dream goes normally.

And then Cellbit is downstairs at the kitchen table with his parents. There's also a girl there, but Cellbit hadn't looked at her face that night, so she doesn't have one now.

"I can't do it," Cellbit whines. He balls his hands into fists and fights the urge to smash his own face into the table.

"You can," his father insists. "You're a smart kid! Why don't we take a break."

He gets up from the table and goes to cut some watermelon.

Cellbit knows what's about to happen next. But he can't close his eyes, because his eyes were open that night.

"Let's try one more time, okay?" his mother asks.

He sniffles and nods.

He looks down at the problems. He can't understand him, he's so stupid. He's so stupid! Why can't he be like [her]?! She's good at math. She's even finished her homework.

His vision starts to blur. He can't see. He can't- he can't breathe oh fuck he can't breathe why can't he breathe what why can't he

A scream.

He looks up and watches his father finish plunging his watermelon-cutting knife into his own stomach.

"Pai!?" the girl screeches.

"I can't do it," Cellbit's mother whispers. "I'm a failure. I can't do it."

She wrestles Cellbit's pencil from his hand and raises it to her eye and-

Cellbit gasps as a clawed hand rips the table into pieces in front of him.

As the dream shifts and as his body turns back into his own, he's pulled by the creature- by Venom- into a loose hug. Its claws dig into his back, but they don't hurt.

He looks up, and he finds himself face-to-face with-

-

Roier was the first person that Cellbit let himself get attached to after he was released from prison.

He'd met Roier by pure chance, and it was love at first sight. He was just so... and he's still so...

"Does this dress make my ass look big?" Roier asks, posing in front of Cellbit in a way that most people would probably call sexy.

...perfect.

They'd met at their mutual friend, Maxo's, club. Roier wasn't on the pole that night, he was instead working the bar, and he and Cellbit hit it off immediately.

The next time Cellbit had been gone, Roier wasn't there, but his 'cousin' was. Melissa, according to Roier, owns half of the club.

And then, seven months later while rummaging through Roier's closet looking for a hoodie to steal, Cellbit had seen one of Melissa's dresses, and, well. Cellbit isn't stupid, okay? But he hadn't said anything because he didn't want to break Roier's trust, and he lives by that idea even now almost two years after their marriage.

If Roier wants to tell him something, he will. It isn't Cellbit's place to push.

Cellbit checks out Roier's ass appreciatively.

"Everything you wear makes your butt look big," he replies.

Roier nods and smiles, more than content with that answer, and he goes to the other side of his dressing room to start putting his makeup on.

Cellbit tries to make it to every one of "Melissa's" shows. He's a good husband, he wants to support Roier in everything he does.

...And he can't sleep anymore unless he has Roier by his side. Does that make him clingy?

He yawns, anyway, and he leans back and slumps in his chair. He might move to the dressing room's sofa, he's exhausted. (He might not be able to sleep without Roier, but he can rest his eyes, at least.)

"Is it okay if I stay back here?" he asks. "I need to lay down."

Roier glances at him through his mirror, concern lining his face. "Are you okay?"

Cellbit waves his concerns aside. "I'm just a little tired. I don't think I'm going to fall asleep, but I don't want to accidentally pass out during your show. That would be bad for business."

Roier's eyebrows furrow, just slightly. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, if it's okay-"

"No!" Roier cuts him off so quickly that he even seems to surprise himself. "I mean. It's okay, but you might not be comfortable. I can try and find you a pillow?"

His voice is shaking, just slightly. Hm.

"Nah, I'm good," Cellbit replies. He shrugs his jacket off and balls it up in his arms. "I've slept in worse places before."

"If- if you're sure, then go ahead."

Something feels... off. Maybe it's just because Cellbit is tired, but something is just. Weird.

But Roier eventually leaves the dressing room, though not without giving Cellbit a big fat messy lipstick-covered kiss on the lips.

Cellbit moves to the sofa, and he pillows his head on his jacket, and he closes his eyes, and he... he falls asleep. Just barely, because his dream is a faded memory around him, but. But.

But Venom isn't there.

-

The third stage of the dream is the coldest. It gnaws at Cellbit's brain, because it was the middle of January when his parents died. He was alone and under the bridge and covered in blood and absolutely freezing.

The dream doesn't ever go on past the bridge. He always just sits there shivering until he wakes up unless Venom shows up.

So he sits, and he shivers, and he waits to wake up. His body is crying, and the tears are freezing to his cheeks. He can't breathe. He can't stop thinking of... of... fuck, who is that girl? The one who chased Cellbit out of the house. The one with no face but the same voice as him.

A police car speeds over the bridge above him. It's going to his house, he knows this. The morning after the bridge, he snuck back towards his house, and the police car was still there. So was the girl. So were his parents bodies, wrapped in sheets and being carried to a Federation-white van.

He's a mistake. [She] was always better than him. [She] never hurt anybody. It isn't fair!

He sobs and buries his face in his knees. He won't sleep tonight, Cellbit remembers staying up all night because he couldn't close his eyes without seeing his parents die in front of him, and he still can't close his eyes without seeing it.

"I'm a monster," he whimpers, the first time he'd ever spoken those words, but not the last. (Later, he would try to embrace them and become the monster the media labeled him as, but it didn't help.)

There's a snarl above him, and then there's Venom standing above him with its fangs bared.

"I-" Cellbit chokes, forced to repeat what he'd said all those years ago. "I need to turn myself in. I have to!"

He stands. Venom moves to block him, grabbing onto his shoulders and holding him in place.

"There have to be healer heroes," Cellbit reasons. "They can fix them."

(They can't, and they won't.)

If possible, Venom looks distraught. The darkness wavers around it, and that's when Cellbit realizes that this is the closest they've really gotten to each other. This close, he can almost make out a face hidden behind Venom's teeth, buried deep within its mouth. But it's too dark, but if he looks hard enough...

Venom steps back, and he tears the bridge apart, and Cellbit finds himself face-to-face with-

-

Roier is cooking dinner tonight, and it smells wonderful. Of course it does, Roier's the one cooking it. Everything he cooks is wonderful, because he's wonderful.

Cellbit sits at the table watching. The kids are all in the other room doing homework, and it's almost peaceful.

Roier slips with the spatula and drops it into the pan. He swears and scoops it out and swears again as the oil inside burns him.

Again, almost peaceful.

Cellbit swiftly stands from his chair and goes to help Roier.

"Here, let me-"

Roier lightly smacks his hand. "Não, não. Go away."

"Mmm, what if I wanna stay with you?"

He slips an arm around Roier's waist and snuggles up against his back. He rests his chin on Roier's shoulder and watches a beautiful smile spread across Roier's face.

"I guess it's fine," Roier sighs, playing up the theatrics. "I guess."

And then it's peaceful once more. Cellbit watches Roier cook, and he pays special attention to Roier's biceps. (Sue him, his husband is hot.)

But then, in the other room, Richarlyson starts shouting:

"This is stupid!"

"Calm down," Bobby drawls. "It's just multiplication, let me see-"

"No, I can do it!"

Cellbit tenses. Roier doesn't seem to notice, and that's fine. It's nothing for either of them to worry about.

"You've literally been working on that for hours," Bobby argues. "Let me see."

"Não!"

Quietly, Pepito pipes up with, "I wanna see!"

"No!" Richarlyson yells. "I can- I can do it!"

"Let me see," Pepito pleads.

(Cellbit can't see.)

"Fuck you, give me the homework," Bobby snaps.

"Fuck you, it's mine!" Richarlyson exclaims.

(Cellbit can't breathe.)

"You literally can't even do it," Bobby mocks. "Give it."

(Cellbit can't-)

The world dissolves around him, and all he can see is his father's body sprawled across the floor and his mother across from him still muttering about how useless she is as he still muttered about how useless he is and he's both 26 years old and eight and he can't breathe and and and and and-

"Cellbit!" he hears. Two warm, gentle hands settle on his cheeks, and he blinks, and he's in his own kitchen. With his husband. Crying.

"It's fine," Roier whispers. He presses his forehead against Cellbit's, eyes slipping shut. "It isn't going to happen again. You're fine. They're fine. It's fine."

Cellbit blinks. The kitchen sounds miles and miles away, but he still heard that, and he knows for certain that he not once has told anybody about the night he killed his parents.

He swallows, fresh tears stinging at his eyes. "What isn't going to happen again?"

Roier tenses, but he doesn't move. His eyes squeeze even further shut, but he doesn't move. His mouth narrows into a pencil-thin line, but he doesn't move.

Cellbit can barely feel his hands, but he still moves his arms to hold Roier around the middle. The kids are still fighting in the background, but... but he can't handle them right now.

In a minute.

"Do we have to talk about it?" Roier hesitantly asks.

Cellbit's answer is immediate: "No. Just... sorry. I'm sorry."

Roier's brow furrows. "'Sorry'? Sorry for what, eh?"

"You shouldn't have to see all... all that. I don't even want to talk about it, but-"

"No, shut up. I'm sorry for sneaking into your dreams every night. It kinda just happens, I don't control it, but... it happened, and you were so sad, and I wanted to help."

Cellbit smiles faintly. His own eyes slip shut, and he can almost not see the bodies this time.

"You do help," he responds. "You help more than you could ever imagine, even outside of the dreams."

He tips his head up to kiss Roier, soft and brief and gentle.

Against Cellbit's lips, Roier mutters, "I can stop."

Cellbit shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. Now that I know it's you, I can stop freaking out about a buff scary monster guy haunting me."

Roier huffs out a quiet laugh. "I can try and be less scary, but I don't control that, either."

"It's still you. Just... God, does this make me a monsterfucker?"

Roier's laugh is much louder this time. He bites Cellbit's bottom lip before pulling back.

Cellbit's eyes open, and he looks into Roier's, and he can see the love in them, and he can feel the love in his own.

God-damn, how did he get this lucky?

"Who are you calling a monster?" Roier demands. He pinches Cellbit's side and turns back to the stove. "Fuck you, sleep alone tonight. I don't even care."

Cellbit smiles and invades his husband's space once more. He hooks his chin over Roier's shoulder, and he sighs against Roier's cheek.

"Te amo," he says. He presses a chaste kiss to the side of Roier's jaw.

Roier's ears turn red, but his face betrays no emotion.

"Your breath smells," he says, a smile teasing at his own lips. "Go brush your teeth before we eat."

Cellbit rolls his eyes, but he leaves to go do as he's told if only to try and finish panicking on his own and try and calm down before dinner.

He passes through the living room, and he sees Bobby at the table helping Richarlyson with his homework.

Some things do change, after all.

[quirkycritters]

First week’s worth of Art Fight attacks COMPLETE!! (I do friendly fire and revenge pspspspsps)

In order, these are for @peskypawz, @ssseriema, @secretgaygenttomura, @bunbiiit, puritypaws, @little-angelbun, and @artnerd1123 !

[emcapi-gaming]

Roevember: Name

Baderon: "So what do they call y─ Nay, don't tell me. 'Tis on the tip o' me tongue... 'Tis...'tis...'tis bloody gone is what it is. Bollocks."

???: "...You know what's real funny? I... just realized I don't remember either."

Baderon: "They say this forgetfulness is some lingerin' effect o' the Calamity. I say it's a Leviathan-sized pain in the arse. Mind, yours seems especially bad. I've seen plenty o' folks what can't remember other names, but not rememberin' yer own? Hmm. What's the last thing ye can remember?"

???: "I... had a strange dream. Then I woke up on the ship, just as we were pulling into port. But before that, it's... fuck, there's nothing."

Baderon: "Well! That's mighty strange. No good frettin' about it too much, though, I reckon. Either it'll come back to ye in time, or it won't. Could be the Calamity. Could be as simple as ye took a bad knock to the noggin - ye look like a fightin' sort to me. Trouble is, though, I can't get ye properly registered with the guild without some sort o' name."

???: "I swear, it's right there, I just can't quite... I think... Ar... Ar-something?"

Baderon: "Take yer time, lass."

Ar???: "Think there's a D in there somewhere. ...Snrk. Ahem. Ard...? I think maybe... Ard...win? Yeah. Yeah, I think that sounds right."

Baderon: "A-r-d-w-y-n?"

Ardwyn?: "No, with an I, like wind. Or winner. I'm pretty sure. My first name."

Baderon: "Good a name as any, I reckon. Fits ye pretty well. Care to venture a guess at a family name?"

Ardwin: "Oh, gods, no, I've got a splitting headache already from trying to dredge up that much."

Baderon: "Hah, fair enough. Just Ardwin it is, then."

[youkaigakkou-tl]

I wanted to ask about the translation of Kyoto part 7– on pg 14-15 Sano thinks to himself (in your version) "Then, I'll be able to see his smile again" but in the officials, it says "If I just do that, then he should smile again". Do you know what's up with the translation difference here?

So the line in jp is "そうすればまたアイツは / 笑ってくれるはず…"

Breaking it down:

そうすれば sousureba: if i do that, in that case

また mata: again

アイツ aitsu: he

笑って waratte: smile

くれる kureru: give, do

はず hazu: probably, should

tbh both lines have the same core idea don't they? (conditional -> he smiles)

though at the time i translated this chapter i was still mostly only looking at the chinese tl and only referencing the jp for the -san's and the -kun's

the chinese tl somewhat amplifies the "kureru" part, it words it as "展露笑容" ("show (a) smile") which i think i interpreted as having way more weight on the act of "showing" which implies a recipient (and "kureru" kinda implies recipient too)

really i probably also didn't want to accidentally lose any words or nuance and rather chose to double down on it

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[sracha]

silly little bandmates

[pbnmj]

never before seen middle part comic noir… I’m obsessed u draw him so nicely 😭😭 so blessed

NOT THE LAST MIDDLE PART COMIC NOIR I INTEND TO DRAW!!!! age discourse/noir timeline discussions i see on the dash have started to make me think about the overlapping year (1933....) and how that could be tied to the 'canon event'. and specifically the potential of comic!noir having a crazy angsty bittersweet time about itsv noir having longer with robbie because he happens to be born earlier in his universe. but also comic!pete having to grapple with knowing what happened to robbie in his universe and how he can't stand by and watch a version of himself lose robbie when he could change things. which is why i have this draft of a page :)

AND GOD DUDE THE WAY U DRAW COMICS NOIR (baby... baby boy) ABSOLUTELY HAS PLAYED A PART IN HOW I DRAW HIM !!! he is so devastatingly young in your depiction of him and i felt like the way i drew the comic version of him had to change and adjust towards that!!!! i love the comic art but that is not a 16-17 year old kid and i swear if the comic reflected how young he was i would have had the world's worst category 10 woman moment

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Okay so

Don't usually make posts like this but I thought the convenience of this was funny enough to make it's own post.

I will not lie to you I've considered joking about the idea of a Junkan Zine as just something to yap about during one of my rambling sessions on this blog, partially because I recently had a Tokomaru Zine (+trinkets) delivered to me.

I'm not the kind of person who's mentally equipped to organize that king of thing thing, the fact that this account runs as smoothly as it does is a miracle quite frankly. That would have to be done by someone far more ambitious than I'll ever be (which yes I know sounds silly as hell considering what i'm doing here, along with also the things I have done for this project that aren't seen yet).

But y'know if someone like that does appear out of nowhere-

I'm not saying I'd jump on supporting that like a ravenous animal, but I'm also not saying I wouldn't dslfhasdljfhsd.

And in regards to a potential Junkan Week

If that's something ya'll would actually be interested in participating in after the 100 Days event has reached it's completion. (which again if I read my times right, will be January 9th), say below in the comments and responses. Or do the same on Day 29 since that's where the idea was first brought up. I would LOVE to do that quite frankly!~ To the point that I might even do it even if it's just me lfsajhsldfa. We'll see how i feel in . . . 71 days.

A Junkan Month might be a bit excessive but I've done a similar thing on an event I ran called Bobovember which was probably even more niche than this. So bare minimum I think I could pull it off despite the amount of effort it'd take. However whether ya'll wanna join in as well is up to you, so again yap below if it sounds enticing!

[formosusiniquis]

🪱 Wiggle Wednesday🪱

Thank you @paperbackribs who tagged me last week, I saw it while I was in class and immediately forgot until I saw people posting their things today. But I'm always excited to share my current brainworms

This is a scene from a fic that I pick at every now and then, so it's basically always on the brain. It started as something about Lucas and Steve and trying to explain away the slight anachronism of Steve (popular and rich) being in Nikes before Jordan made them cool (thank you Air) and it has turned into something much more about Lucas and also his Mom relating through a shared love of basketball and Steve is also there.

It’s a Friday night after the end of the world, and strangely Lucas is at a basketball game.

Or maybe it’s only strange because it’s so normal.

A Friday night in a small town and there isn’t much to do except support the home team. Only Mom won’t watch football, she calls it barbaric, so she reserves all her team spirit for November when basketball season starts. Lucas’ skin itches a little under the Hawkins Tigers shirt he’s wearing, as he’s pretending to be normal when a couple weeks ago he learned monsters were real. What can he do though? Mrs. Byers has Will on house arrest, Mike is still mourning Eleven, and Dustin hasn’t been allowed out since Will’s Lazarus act.

Maybe he’s being too sensitive. Steve is here, who Lucas mostly knows from Mike complaining about being Nancy’s stupid boyfriend. Steve is playing like everything is fine, even though Lucas knows Steve knows. He heard whispering about it with Nancy when he went to the bathroom the last time he was at Mike’s. But Steve is smiling as he paces down the court. Miles better than the other players around him, when Steve has the ball Lucas feels like he does when he’s watching a real basketball game on the couch with his Mom.

If Steve can act like things are normal. If he can sink three pointer after rebound after assist, maybe it’s okay that Lucas is wearing his Tiger green. He floats down the court and everyone cheers. But no one cheers right. When #21 Hagan gets a rebound off of Seymour’s best player, a girl’s voice screams so loud it makes his throat hurt. No one cheers that way for Steve. It’s just excitement for the game, not for him and the way he is playing.

When the game ends, Hawkins 73: Seymour 42, and the crowd storms the court Lucas stands by his Mom in the bleachers. She hates feeling the push of the crowd against her and as he gets older, and people’s hands get rougher, he’s starting to understand. He’s too old to be caught standing by his Mom though. After everything, he knows better than to move too far away from her; going to the game with your Mom is one thing, being the kid getting called out over the intercom because she can’t find you would be life ruining.

Lucas watches the thinning crowd while he waits. Parents and girlfriends crowding their sweaty players. He doesn’t want to get caught looking at any of those boys for too long now that they aren’t playing. He isn’t sure why. So he keeps looking for something familiar.

Steve is standing beside a short, dark haired man who’s got what his father calls a beer gut. He doesn’t look anything like Steve, but he’s also the only adult anywhere near him. He’s the only person at all that’s really near Steve. They’re talking excitedly about something. He claps Steve on the back and whatever he says next has Steve looking down toward the floor.

“Is that Steve’s dad?” he asks his mom before thinking about why that might be a weird question to ask her.

“Who?” The way she says it makes him sure she hadn’t actually heard the question. She’d caught a name, when he interrupted her conversation with the lady next to them, but not enough to answer. It’s a free chance to drop the issue. To say sorry, never mind, and go back to watching people move on the floor below them.

“That guy,” she slaps his hand down as he goes to point. “The guy next to Steve, number 8, is that his dad?”

“How do you know him?” The question, instead of an answer, startles him enough that he looks at her instead of Steve. Stern, he knows he doesn’t want to lie to her, but he also isn’t sure how to say that this random high school boy saved two of his best friends’ older siblings' lives.

“He’s Nancy’s boyfriend. Mike talks about him.”

If he’d just waited. He would have gotten his question answered without asking Mom. They both watch as that man says one more thing to Steve, shakes his hand, and walks out of the gym. “I don’t see Nancy here.” Because they both know he doesn’t really need his other question answered anymore.

“I don’t think she really likes sports.”

Mom sucks her teeth, a judgmental tchk that has heat climbing the back of his neck when it's not even for him. "Well that's a shame, he's a good player." There's finally enough space on the floor that they could leave. He wants, desperately, for them to just go cause something about this conversation is making him feel guilty again. "Do you want to to say hi?"

There's nothing he wants less than that. Lucas thinks if he has to go up to this guy, who went toe to toe with a monster, while his mom trails behind he'll die. Lucas thinks if he says hi to a guy who has only seen him maybe twice in the context of Mike Wheeler's house, and has to sit there while Steve blankly accepts his congrats he'll melt into the floor.

"Can we just go home? I still have homework."

And some tags to @fuctacles, @cauldronoflove, @thefreakandthehair, @stevespookington, @stevieharringtonwifeguy

@eriquin, @grasslandgirl, @augustjustice, and anyone else who wants to play!

[fat-rolls-frictions]

check my pinned for commission info, and find my tip jar at buymeacoffee.com/mt110304 !